Except Toby and his household.
Household, was it?
He hadn’t even been thinking in Mosphei’ just now. He’d been thinking in Ragi. That was how it was. He couldn’t remember his brother’s face when he was apart from him. Toby belonged to a different world, where people came with different features, spoke differently, felt differently, hadn’t a clue what went on in his head, and didn’t understand why touching another person was justc something he didn’t do anymore.
Hell.
He was losing his grip, was what. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Toby at the moment. He was outright flinching from the thought.
He’d pitied his predecessor, Wilson, who had just gotten odder and odder. Wilson had quit the post once his aiji, Valasi, had died, and when Valasi’s son, Tabini, had been a few weeks in the aijinate. Wilson couldn’t deal with the change in regimes, and he’d retired to the university on Mospheira, saying Tabini was a future problemc
So one Bren Cameron had taken over the post, young, bright, academic ace, the onlyhuman, at the time, to master the mathematical intricacies of court Ragic Wilson himself had never been fluent; had never ventured far from his dictionary, and, God, researched every official utterancec
He’d rapidly been better than Wilson. More reckless than Wilson.
Now he had to ask himself which language he was thinking in.
Now he routinely limited his human impulses and curtailed his human instincts, shaping himself into something elsec
A good talent, up to a point. He didn’t know if he’d passed that point. Maybe he’d passed it somewhere in that voyage, when they’d all gone out to get a human station removed from where it had no right to bec
Maybe his usefulness to the world had become something else out there. Maybe he didn’t belong on the planet anymore, down in its web of intrigues, plots, and politics. Much as it would hurt—much as it would hurt people he cared about— maybe it might be better if he told Shawn his disconnnect had gotten the better of him, and he wasn’t just resigning from representing Mospheira—which he had done, even before he went off to space—he was resigning from functioning on the planet at all.
If he couldn’t stop this wireless phone business—God knew, maybe he should go back up to the station and live there, where the view was panoramic and the associations were all knowable and limited.
Represent the aiji to the station-humans. That wasn’t a small job.
It wasn’t what he emotionally wanted. He’d put down roots here on the mainland. Deep ones. But if he was becoming inconvenient to the very things he was trying to savec
Damn. He was losing himself. He was scared, was what.
And in that sense, Tatiseigi’s return was extremely inconvenient: he’d wanted uninterrupted time to prepare his arguments and gather data. He almost wished he didn’thave to deal with Toby. He needed his mind on business: it was a critical issue. He needed to stop this wireless business once for all.
But Toby wouldn’t overstay. Neither, for that matter, would Barb.
God.
Barb.
No. No. Not a good thing to go into their visit anticipating trouble. The last meeting had been uncomfortable, to say the least—finding an old and troublesome relationship had now ricocheted to one’s divorced brother was, yes, uncomfortable for everybody. But if the paidhi-aiji could negotiate affairs between people bent on killing each other, he surely could find a way to get through a week up close with Barb.
It was the price of seeing Toby.
Which he wasn’t sure he wanted to do in this particular weekc
No. He did. He’d come too far unattached from his own kind. The paidhi might be the better, mentally, for reforging some of those human links, even if they hurt. It was part of what he had beenc which had been, once upon a time, efficient.
Maybe he just needed to recover his balance. Sharpen the edges, to mix metaphors. Regain a lost dimension of himself. The paidhi-aiji was useful when he washuman, not when he was embedded so deeply in atevi politics he could no longer be perceived as different from any other clan-centered interest.
Getting that sense of humanness back, getting his thinking process in better order—that might be more useful than research.
Banichi said, “We just passed Nomi Dar, Bren-ji.”
Within an hour of the coast. “We might have sandwiches,” he decided. Staff at the estate knew when they were to arrive—they’d have consulted the train station. And he knew nothing would dissuade staff from having a meal ready, no matter the hour, but nothing would dissuade staff, either, from the formalities of meeting, and that might require a little fortification.
So he had one of the small sandwiches—small, by atevi standards—and gave half to Banichi. He had a cup of fresh-made tea, and with carbohydrates hitting his system, even mustered a sense of anticipation for Toby’s visit. The air seemed to smell differently—or weigh differently—as they came down toward the coast.
The sea—changed things. Healed things. He began to feel it.
And when the train finally slowed to a stop and they had reached the station, he was properly kitted out and ready. He carried his own computer: Banichi and Jago stood near the door awaiting the signal from Tano and Algini that they had found things proper outside.
Then and only then did Banichi throw back the lever and shove the door open, and a pleasant cool breeze met them—a breeze and a cheer from the station platform, where very many familiar faces waited.
His staff. His people. Familiar facesc chief among them, Ramaso, his major domo—silver-haired, entirely now, around the face: that was a shock. Ramaso was a cousin of Narani’s, that excellent man, his major domo from up on station, and looked very like him, now that the hair had changed.
There was Saidaro, who almost single-handedly had saved his boat from destruction; there was Husaro, and Anakarac there was a whole crowd.
“Nandi,” Ramaso said, with a deep bow and a beaming face. “One understands there is baggage: we brought the truck as well as the bus. The boys will take care of the baggage. You and your bodyguard should come in the bus.”
“One doubts being able to persuade my aishid, nadi-ji, but they will quite happily let the young lads do the loading.”
“Indeed,” Banichi said, at his shoulder, and Jago relayed that information to Tano and Algini—the baggage car had opened up, and some of the group was tending in that direction: a glance showed Tano outside on the platform, and doubtless talking to Jago.
It suddenly all felt better. Ramaso, and Saidaro, Husaro and others, some lifelong domestics, some clerical staff who had retired from office service during the Troubles, and who had come here to Najida to live out their retirement in service to the estate—mostly attending the needs of the adjacent village, teaching the children, handling forms and applications and helping out in general. The names came back to him, the faces moderately changed, in some cases the hair newly salted with whitec all of them wearing their finest, and positively beaming. They bowed. He bowed. They crowded about—as much as atevi ever would crowd and jostle.
“Have you heard from my brother yet, nadi-ji?” Bren asked Ramaso, and that worthy smiled and nodded.
“His boat was tying up at dock as we left to meet the train, nandi. Staff will see him and the lady up to the house. He will be settled in the south room. Will that suit?”
“One is extremely gratified,” he said, and meant it. He bowed again, and they all bowed, and Ramaso showed him and Banichi and Jago toward the platform steps, and the waiting bus. As he had thought, Tano and Algini, not leaving his baggage even to this devoted crew, marshaled junior staff to carry baggage down to the truck, which waited behind the bus.